Thank you for reading!
The habits of a lifetime remain, even in the midst of a dark and deserted crumbling tower. Varric kept a sharp eye on the corners, watching for anything interesting he could pilfer. They didn't want to burden themselves too heavily—their packs were already fairly full—but they also didn't want to miss the chance for some long-forgotten loot, either.
And, being Varric, he also had his eye out for books and parchment and anything to read. The dry air inside the tower had preserved things quite well, and the pages he found were old but still legible. He flipped through a book he'd picked up as he kept pace with Hawke. (Rather, as Hawke kept pace with him, but he preferred to think of it the first way.)
"Hey, listen to this," he said suddenly, finding a passage that seemed relevant. "'The Grey Wardens' prison in the Vimmarks is believed to have been constructed more than a thousand years ago.'"
"Smells like it, too," Blondie muttered.
Varric skimmed some of the boring bits. "'The prison consists of a central tower built into the rift with magically maintained bridges allowing access at different levels.'" He didn't love the idea that these bridges over vast nothingness were held up by magic. He was dwarf enough to prefer to put his faith in engineering and craftsmanship. "'Each level is sealed by a blood magic ritual in which a mage of untainted blood uses his own life essence to create a magical barrier that is—" Hearing Hawke's sharp intake of breath, he looked up. "What?"
"'His own life essence,'" Sunshine quoted sadly. "Our father, he—"
"He withered away," Hawke said, her voice sharp. "One day he was this vital, alive, strong man we could all depend on. The next—" She stopped talking abruptly, pulling ahead with long, angry strides.
Watching her go, Sunshine sighed. "It all—everything fell on her shoulders. I never knew what Father said to her, but she took over his place, taking care of all of us. Whether she wanted to or not."
Looking at Hawke, so far up ahead, Varric was willing to bet she hadn't wanted to—but her love for her family had been stronger than anything else.
"Anders." Hawke had stopped and turned back to wait for them to catch her. "What was that … thing?"
"The ghoul? The one who used to be a Warden? Oh, that's just what happens to Grey Wardens when they aren't honorably killed in battle."
"That corruption …" Sunshine shivered.
"He's far gone," Blondie agreed. "Looking at him … I wonder how many of the Grey Wardens who descend into the Deep Roads when their time has come don't die."
"You mean, they become darkspawn?"
"He certainly seemed more darkspawn than human." Hawke shook her head. "Even the threat of such a fate … Anyone normal would choose to die first."
Blondie laughed, without mirth. "Which is probably why the Grey Wardens don't choose anyone normal. And don't tell them what they're signing up for until it's too late."
"I would fight," Hawke said.
"History seems to suggest you'd lose," Varric told her.
"Fighting a losing battle is what being a Grey Warden is all about," Blondie said in a distant voice. "Sometimes ... sometimes I almost forget what it means to be a Grey Warden. But that made it hit home again."
Hawke felt a pulsing sensation on her back and instinctively drew the strange sword. Her father's, however inexplicably, if anything in this place was to be believed. Ahead of them was a large room, well-lit, with a central dais surrounded by pillars that glowed blue.
The ghoul appeared out of the shadows, and she sighed.
"Let me guess. The first seal?"
"Two thousand years, the magic holds. Never broken," the ghoul babbled. "Give it the key. Let it take the magic back to itself. Absorb it, all who came before …"
"Hawke. You don't have to do this."
"Father created these seals. We should leave them."
She glanced at Anders, not because she particularly cared what he had to say, but because it seemed only fair to give him the chance to speak as well, but he was distracted, looking around as if listening for something.
"The seals clearly aren't working the way they should any longer," she said coolly to Varric and Bethany. "If they were, Corypheus wouldn't be sending dwarves mad and causing them to attack us. I can't take the risk that he'll get free, not abandoned here in the middle of the desert with what appears to be no oversight. We're taking him out, here and now."
And she mounted the dais, drawing the sword across the fleshy part of her palm and allowing a few drops to fall.
Immediately, of course, there was a demon, roaring in all its assumed power.
It didn't roar for long. The strange sword sliced through its flesh with ease, and the magic and the crossbow bolts did their work, and the demon fell.
When it was gone, Hawke stood again in the middle of the dais. She didn't know how she knew what needed to be done, but it just came to her. She held up the sword, and crackling energy flowed into it from all the surrounding pillars.
She fell to her knees under the onslaught, gritting her teeth as she held the sword.
When it was over, she looked up and the ghoul was in front of her. "The blood works. It is good."
Hawke wasn't sure 'good' would have been the word she would choose for how she felt, but … it wasn't bad, either. She felt energized. Ready to move on and face whatever this stupid tower would throw at her next. Her father's blood, the ruin of Varric's best friend, the horrible truth about the Grey Wardens … how much worse could it possibly get? Surely from here it would be smooth sailing.